


Rehydration

by Kitacular



Series: More than Brothers [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Aramis, BDSM, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kink Negotiation, M/M, No Safeword, Painplay, Prompt Fill, Roleplay, Suicidal Thoughts, but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9968255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: Athos has a bad mission without his friends but they're waiting in Paris to help him out... In the way only they can.Much loving kink. Many fluffy beatings. Happy people all round despite the ouch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Ghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ghoul/gifts).



> The first of the prompts and requests that built up during me writing Emancipation of a Tree. This was the request from The_Ghoul :)
> 
> "I'd love to read some more of the Athos/Porthos/Aramis Stress relief sessions... I did read Cashing in a Favour, really enjoyed that one too, but I'd really like to read more of that from you, more where they explore the emotional level of that and the aftercare. Any chance for that? "

Eyes squeezed shut, Athos leaned back against the wall of the stable. Three more days. That's all. Three more days. He just had to make it that long and he would be back in Paris where he could lose himself in drink. He clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath.

This had been an awful mission. Under all the politics, the back stabbing, the lying and the deceit... A man had killed his wife.

Listening to everyone speak of him. The betrayal, the pain he caused, the immorality, the lowest of the low... They were right. For a man to do that to someone he loves. Everyone kept saying he can't have really loved her if he could kill her. Yet Athos saw it in his eyes. He did. He loved her.

The others were right. He was evil. Pure evil.

So was Athos.

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Enough!” Athos snapped at the men around the fire another day later.

Their laughter was irritating and grating. The wine had run out two days ago and Athos could feel the familiar sensation of thick black oil rushing around inside his body, choking him. The last thing he needed was to listen to those idiots laughing over a card game.

“Aw c'mon Athos,” one of them called. “It's over. The wife murdering bastard's dead.”

Athos stood quickly and strode away. If they only knew.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos was tying his horse to a tree in the camp when he heard more laughter from the other men. He wrapped the rope around his wrist and pulled it tight, making his fingers go numb.

He needed a drink.

Anything to quell this feeling. There was a loud screaming in the back of his skull that wouldn't go away. He needed the clarity, the calm. He couldn't cope with this.

Maybe he should ride on through the night. Find a town. A village. Worst case scenario he would fall and die. That would be nice.

He let go of the rope and his whole hand gave a throb of pain as the blood rushed back to his digits.

Maybe he should do that instead of drinking when he got back. It would make the oblivion of drinking so much more permanent.

He flexed his hand experimentally before drawing his sleeve up slightly. He could just make out the dark red line where he'd pulled it so tight. He imagined his knife there instead and closed his eyes.

One more day. He could cope one more day until he made it home to kiss it all goodbye.

  
  


  
  


Athos had hardly slept, instead pacing the camp almost all night. He'd finally fallen into a restless doze about two hours before they'd moved off.

He hadn't spoken to anyone all day, not even answering when people asked him direct questions. When they finally reached the yard that night he'd veritably thrown the reins at Jaques and turned to leave.

“Athos!” someone called. “Gotta see the Captain!”

He didn't care. He just wanted to get home. He had a job to do. Without even looking round, he walked from the yard, his entire body trembling with anticipation. It would all be over soon.

Less than twenty paces from the gates, however, a man fell into step with him either side. Without looking he knew it was Aramis and Porthos.

“Heading home?” asked Aramis lightly.

Athos didn't answer and just kept walking. Neither man commented, simply keeping pace beside him. When they reached a junction a few minutes later, however, a hand on his upper arm steered him to the left.

“No,” he hissed.

The hand tightened and yanked hard, pulling him to a stop. It tugged again and he came face to face with his friends.

“You are coming to ours,” Aramis said, his voice hard.

“No,” Athos hissed again.

The hand grew even tighter, fingers digging into his tricep, and pain shot down Athos' arm.

“I didn't ask,” Aramis replied, stepping closer. He held Athos' gaze in the darkened street until the senior Musketeer couldn't help but drop his gaze.

A rough tug to his arm again and they continued walking, Athos trembling much harder than before.

  
  


  
  


Athos was shoved through the door of Aramis and Porthos' home where he stumbled a few steps and was leaning against the wall.

Porthos' rough hands took his hat from him, throwing it carelessly to the side and he immediately unbuckled Athos' sword belt, pushing his hands away when he lowered them as well. Whether he was trying to help or stop him, Athos didn't know.

Aramis was perched comfortably on the arm of his chair, long legs stretched in front of him, still fully dressed and watching Athos intently.

Porthos worked fast and he was almost violent in the way he manhandled Athos out of his doublet.

“Boots,” he barked gruffly.

Athos couldn't take his eyes off Aramis whose face was an unreadable mask and he numbly obeyed, kicking his boots off with Porthos' hand wrapped tightly back around his arm.

That done, Porthos shoved Athos roughly to the hearth, flinging him to the floor where he landed in an untidy heap on the rug.

He couldn't move.

The roaring in his head had reached new levels. He had been telling himself for nearly a week he just had to make it to Paris. Then he could drink. All day today he'd had a warm thought of taking his own life wrapped around him and now he couldn't.

There was a violent animal trying to scratch its way out through his chest and his entire body was wracked with violent shudders. He was furious, terrified, desperate... He curled into a ball on the rug and buried his face in the soft fibres.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Gradually he became aware his body was calming down and he had been moved. His face was no longer pressed into the rug, it was against leather... someone's thigh. He was still in a ball on his side but there was a warm hand laying heavily on his own thigh and another stroking his arm. A third rested lightly on his shoulder.

He was still trembling but it was no longer the violent shudders of before and he managed to open his eyes.

It was Aramis' thigh he was laying on.

“Athos?” he asked quietly.

“I can't... I'm not... I... Help me,” he whispered. He didn't even have enough clarity to summon a shred of embarrassment at the desperate plea.

“We will but we need you to do some things first,” Aramis said softly, his other hand stroking through Athos' shaggy tangled hair.

“I can't,” Athos said, the words sticking in his throat.

“You can,” Aramis murmured. “First I just need you to sit up.”

“I'm too... I can't,” Athos whispered, giving up on trying to speak properly.

“Yes you can,” Aramis repeated more forcefully.

The hand on his thigh moved and together, four hands gradually pulled him up to a sitting position. An arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder from each side, holding him upright and keeping him steady.

“I'm so... I...” Athos stammered.

“Shh,” Aramis soothed. His free hand was pressed against Athos' chest, holding him in place. “Feel up to some water?”

Athos tried to lurch forwards violently, his alcohol cravings rearing up immediately.

“Water,” Aramis repeated firmly.

Athos turned his head, pale eyes frantic as he stared wildly into Aramis' calm black ones.

“OK,” Athos whispered hoarsely as his body resumed its subtle trembling.

Porthos raised a water skin to Athos' lips and he tried to raise his hands to grip it but they were trembling too much. He let them fall back into his lap and allowed Porthos to feed him small amounts of water for several long minutes until he turned his head and Porthos took it away.

“You were thirsty,” Aramis said gently.

“I don't think... I can't remember drinking,” he muttered.

“It's OK,” Aramis soothed.

For long, long minutes Athos simply sat there, held tightly between his best friends. The weight of their arms across his shoulders was comforting and the hand on his chest pinned him in place. The terrible itching inside him was still present but it wasn't raging as harshly to get out. His brothers gave him another layer of protection, keeping it in check.

“Can you talk?” Aramis asked quietly.

“Yes,” Athos said, more calmly than he'd felt in nearly a week.

“What was your mission?” Aramis asked softly, lowering his hand to rest on Athos' knee.

“There was... a nobleman... He... a militia...” Athos stammered. He took a deep breath. “I can't talk about it.”

“OK,” Aramis said, squeezing his thigh gently. “It's OK. I'm guessing it kicked up a lot of dust from your past.”

Athos nodded, grateful he wasn't pushing.

“Did you drink?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Athos answered in a whisper, the screaming at the base of his skull returning.

“Shh. It's OK. Have you been drinking today?”

“No. Not since... Sunday?” he answered, shifting between them as the roaring began to build again.

Aramis nodded thoughtfully and Athos watched as he flicked his fingers. Porthos' hand joined his and they rested their clasped hands against Athos' stomach. He sighed gratefully as the feeling of being pinned down returned and clamped down on the rising agitation.

“What are you feeling, right now?” Aramis asked.

Athos gave a bitter chuckle at the idea of trying to pick words to describe the tangled mess in his chest and head.

“Try,” Aramis urged gently.

“Everything,” snapped Athos, a surprising amount of anger in his voice.

“Athos.”

Aramis' voice was still gentle but there was a hint of warning in it.

“Aramis,” Athos mimicked, hating himself for the mocking tone, even as the words passed his lips.

“That's enough,” Aramis said, still quiet. “You need our help. I know that. You know that. I need some questions answering first to keep you and us safe.”

“Aramis,” he sighed, finally lifting his head to meet his friend's eyes. “Can't you just force me?”

Athos expected to see pity in Aramis' expression but all that was there was the same gentle compassion and understanding he'd always had.

“I could but I don't want to do that to you,” he said gently. “We're here to keep you safe, gently prise you apart and piece you back together, not just smash you with a hammer.”

Athos nodded his understanding and looked back down at their hands on his stomach, his own still laying dormant at his sides.

“Take your time,” Aramis said quietly.

The longer he thought about it, though, the more the panic started to rise.

“Unsettled... Something's inside me... My skin itches... I'm angry... I'm frightened... I... I hate... I need to... I want to forget... To get away... To... I need... I feel...”

“Shh, shh,” Aramis soothed as Athos began to become incoherent. “No rush.”

“I have to get it out,” Athos gasped, struggling slightly in their embrace.

“Athos,” Aramis said, sharply. “Be still.”

Athos' body complied but his head continued to thrash slightly, eyes wild as they sought Aramis.

“What do you need to get out?”

“This... Feeling. It's... too much. All this...”

“Whirlpool,” Porthos murmured.

Athos nodded frantically without turning away from Aramis.

“Everything is churning inside?” Aramis asked.

“Yes,” Athos said urgently.

“OK. What do you want from us?” Aramis asked.

“I don't want to think. I want... I want to be hurt. I need... I want to feel... Pain. I need to feel... punished,” he answered, panic clawing in his throat again.

“Shh,” Aramis said again, pulling his and Porthos' hands tighter against his stomach.

“I can't... Aramis... I need...” Athos begged.

“No,” Aramis answered calmly. “We **will** help you, my friend, but we will do so safely. I still need to ask you a few questions so deep breaths... In... Out... In.. Lovely... Out.”

Athos breathed along with the instructions and gradually calmed enough to nod at Aramis.

“OK,” Aramis murmured. “Do you need a role to escape into?”

“Yes. Can't.. I don't want to be myself,” Athos admitted.

“Convicted criminal?” Aramis suggested.

“Yes. Yes,” he gasped, nodding again. “But... I need...” Athos took a deep breath. “It needs to be... savage... not...”

“You need it more... cruel... than a King's punishment would normally be? Perhaps more... emotional?” Aramis asked, carefully.

“A... An awful crime,” Athos whispered. His body had started to shake again as they stepped too close to the darkness.

“I can't... I won't make attempts to humiliate or shame you for an imagined crime,” Aramis said tentatively. “I don't want to risk stepping in whatever dust has been stirred up already. We'll play the role enough for you to feel detached from us but we will not play to your imagined guilt.”

“It's fine. It's fine,” Athos said, quickly. “I...”

“Yes?” Aramis asked sharply when Athos trailed off.

“I deserve it,” he whispered.

“Athos,” he said, still sharp. “Look at me.”

Athos reluctantly complied, meeting the intelligent black eyes. He winced as they flicked back and forth between his and he swallowed hard, feeling extremely exposed.

“We will hurt you physically but we will not shame you or humiliate you in any way. You are our friend and the most honourable man we know. We love you and will endeavour to give you anything you need that's in our power to provide,” Aramis said, sternly. “You will not, however, use us as weapons to continue to torment yourself internally. Do you understand me?”

Athos winced and felt an enormous urge to look away but Aramis was too compelling and he felt trapped.

“Yes,” he said, finally.

“Good,” Aramis said, more kindly. “We will still stop when you ask us to. As soon as you say no, we'll stop.”

“No,” Athos said, quickly. “I need to go past... to be pushed. I have heard... People use a code word?”

Again those dark eyes seemed to bore straight into Athos' mind.

“No.”

“Aramis-” Athos began.

“I said no. I understand what you mean. A word that means you can fight and struggle but still stop things if they get too much?”

“Yes,” Athos said, hopefully.

“I don't trust you to use it,” Aramis said honestly. “I still think you're lost in this... whirlpool. I don't trust that you will recognise when it's enough.”

“But I-”

“I. Said. No,” Aramis repeated firmly.

Athos watched his face and felt goosebumps rise on his arms. It seemed Aramis was getting to the end of his questions and that unidentified electric crackle of power seemed to be filling the room.

“Do you wish to have your control taken from you?”

“Yes,” Athos answered fervently, nodding.

“I wish to bind you today. Is that OK?” Aramis asked.

“Yes,” Athos whispered.

“You have previously mentioned no rope. Does that still hold?” Aramis asked. His voice had grown very matter of fact and Athos clung to it to keep his growing anticipation in check.

“I... How much rope?”

“Wrists and ankles?”

“That will be OK but not... Not behind my back.”

“Can we hold them there?”

“Yes,” Athos answered, calm settling through him as Aramis' tone grew more and more domineering.

“We will both hurt you and be rough with you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he whispered again.

“Is there anywhere you fear?”

“Not... Don't lift me by the throat,” Athos whispered.

Aramis nodded, his thumb stroking Athos' stomach gently. They'd done that once before and accidentally induced panic.

“Are you OK to begin now?” Aramis asked.

Athos nodded vigorously but Aramis frowned slightly. There was something manic in Athos' eyes he didn't like.

“I want you to take a minute in your room,” he said gently. “Use the pot if you wish. Wash your face. Have a small drink of water." His voice was incredibly gentle but there was no way of denying it was a clear set of instructions. “When you are ready, return to us in only your small clothes. If you wish for more time or to ask any questions, keep your shirt on.”

“If I come out... as you say... then... It begins?” Athos asked tentatively.

“Yes. If and when you exit that room in only your smalls, it will be as a prisoner facing their punishment,” Aramis confirmed.

Athos nodded his understanding and the arms on his stomach parted. He struggled to his feet, slightly embarrassed how shaky he was. Porthos, however, had risen with him and had his hand under Athos' elbow. Handing him the water skin as well, Porthos smiled encouragingly and Athos slowly walked to the smaller of their two bedrooms, often referred to as his.

  
  


  
  


Porthos returned to the rug and sat back down beside Aramis, legs stretched out in front of him.

“I haven't seen him this bad for a long time,” he said.

“Indeed,” Aramis said quietly, frowning at the closed door. “He seems OK for this, though. You agree?”

“He is now,” Porthos agreed.

“Keep an eye on him,” Aramis said, turning to Porthos.

“You'll be fine.”

“I know but I don't know what happened well enough to be certain I'm avoiding it,” Aramis explained. "I think he's going to try and hide it from us, especially from me."

Porthos smiled and leaned over to kiss him lightly.

“What do you want me to do?”

  
  


  
  


  
  


Athos sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, trying to control his breathing. He could hear low voices in the other room and knew they would be making plans. While his instinct was to listen at the door, he didn't want to know what was coming. Aramis had been right when he'd guessed Athos wanted his control taken from him.

Sitting up, he held his hand to his chest. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs but already he felt better. The crawling itch was still there, the bubbling panic, the creeping black oil... They were all still there but it felt like Aramis had hit pause... As if the control Aramis was going to have over Athos' body controlled the demons inside as well.

He stood suddenly, looking around him. There was a sudden bubble of energy inside him and he paced a couple of times, swinging his arms. There was a big flutter of irritation at Aramis for insisting he took this time. It meant he had to make the conscious decision. He sat back on the bed, just as suddenly.

He could do this. He could. He needed this. Aramis wouldn't mind how long he took, wouldn't even mind if Athos backed out but he would never do that. He needed them.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos was sat on the large dining table, his booted feet on one of the chairs, when Athos emerged. He scanned his eyes up and down Athos' body before he nodded curtly.

“He's here, Sir,” Porthos said, loudly.

Athos' head snapped up to peer at Porthos. He almost exclusively called Aramis Sire or Master. When Porthos just stared back at him intensely, he realised it was part of their roles and he moved his eyes to find Aramis who was sat in his armchair, back to them both.

Porthos watched Athos carefully and saw his eyes fix on the back of Aramis' head. His eyes still had that slightly manic look about them but his body was much calmer. There were no traces of the mud on his face that had been there before so he felt confident Athos had followed Aramis' instructions.

“Indeed,” Aramis murmured without turning around. “Tie him down.”

Porthos smirked to see a slight shiver in Athos' body at the coldness in Aramis' voice. He stepped towards Athos, who held his wrists up obligingly.

Athos gasped in surprise as his wrists were batted away roughly and a massive hand took hold of his hair, pulling him so hard he stumbled. He was picked up and very nearly thrown onto the table. He landed so hard his breath whooshed out of him and he felt suddenly light headed.

A massive arm landed hard on his chest, pinning him to the table and one of his hands was pulled sharply up and out to the corner. A length of rope was clearly waiting there because within seconds it was wrapped around his wrist. The arm on his chest bent and he grunted in pain as the point of Porthos' elbow ground into his breastbone. Seconds later the hand and arm left him and his wrist was tied to the leg of the table, leaving his arm outstretched.

He was quickly getting his breath back when his other wrist was picked up, extended towards the corner of the table and then dropped again. He heard the clump of Porthos' boots as he moved and deftly tied first one, then the second, ankle to the corners of the table. Clearly these bits of rope had been prepared.

“Sir,” Porthos said.

Athos was quickly recovering and pulled on his ankles and bound wrist. Already he could feel everything in his chest building up again, as if they sensed what was coming and felt the threat Aramis posed.

“Yes?” Aramis asked, coming into Athos' line of vision.

Athos' free wrist was lifted and held out for Aramis' inspection. He shivered seeing Aramis had, like Porthos, stripped down to just his shirt and breeches but he'd rolled his sleeves up to the elbow. Another shiver passed through him when Aramis didn't even look at him, simply peering at the offered wrist.

Athos suddenly realised what the problem was when fingers passed across the bruise left by the rope he'd wrapped around himself on the journey back.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I-”

Porthos' hand clamped down suddenly on his mouth and he shook his head to explain. The hand grew tighter and he grunted angrily.

“No matter,” Aramis said dismissively and he walked away a few paces.

The hand over Athos' face remained tight and he glared up at Porthos who wasn't even looking anywhere near him. He grunted again as Aramis returned and simply stared murderously up at them. A piece of cloth was wound several times around his wrist before the rope and all of a sudden, all his limbs were secured.

The hand finally left his mouth but he found he didn't have anything to say. Finally being held down had made his mouth go dry with mild panic and yet was somehow a relief. He tried to meet their eyes to communicate this but neither man glanced down at him at all.

“Begin,” Aramis said, turning his back on them.

Athos lifted his head to watch Aramis return to his armchair but his view was blocked when Porthos stepped in the way and finally looked down at him.

It was not comforting.

Porthos looked gleeful, as if he'd just been presented with a juicy joint of meat. His smile, while normally charming, was feral and his eyes raked over Athos' form like a butcher. Fear clenched around his stomach and he tugged involuntarily on his wrists, revelling in the inability to get away.

When the first punch landed to the top of his thigh, he was fairly certain his heart stopped. He lifted his head to stare at Porthos in horror but his friend just grinned back, that dangerous air around him like a cloud. Porthos' eyes flicked back to Athos' thigh and he pressed his knuckles into the muscle. He delivered another swift punch to the same spot and grinned threateningly down at him.

Athos' head dropped back to the table as he felt his muscle throbbing. Logically, he knew there was no way in hell his friend would injure him. Realistically he knew Porthos wasn't hitting with any where near the true strength he possessed. Emotionally, though... The blunt force of it... The brutality... The naked violence... It frightened him.

Porthos watched for a few seconds as Athos stared blankly at the ceiling. He could see his chest rising and falling rapidly and knew Aramis had been right... He'd needed to be knocked off balance.

He punched into Athos' thigh again, careful to hit the same spot. He repeated the movement another three times before looking back up at Athos. His eyes were screwed closed but his mouth was hanging open. Again, his breathing was rapid and shallow. After a moment he groaned deeply and Porthos pressed his knuckles firmly into the same spot and knew from Athos' gentle squirm that it was beginning to throb deeply.

A shift in his aim and he struck a spot on the fleshier side of his thigh. Another check to Athos' face and chest and he was still calm. Porthos allowed himself another feral grin and got down to business.

  
  


  
  


What felt like an age later, Porthos stopped. Athos had been taken by surprise by the sheer violence and hadn't had a chance to put his normal stoic facade into place. He was panting heavily and gave a long, low groan of pain when he realised Porthos had stopped. Both of his thighs were throbbing painfully. At first he'd been able to discern between Porthos' targets but now there was just one deep throb, all the way along the muscles on each leg.

A fist pressed threateningly into his waist and he sucked in a deep breath in out of fear and exhaled heavily when the hand was removed. It pressed in again against his hip and he froze. When it disappeared he shuddered.

Without warning a punch landed on the soft dip of his stomach and his breath rushed out of him more in surprise than pain. He was given a few precious seconds wherein he realised Porthos was using even less force and he reminded himself he was safe before the blows started to come.

He couldn't help tensing his muscles but it didn't seem to help. If anything it seemed to hurt more, the muscles throbbing deeply. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the force. There was something primal and terrifying about the impact. Even when he remembered Porthos wasn't going to injure him, the knowledge of how helpless he was reminded him Porthos could. Very easily.

His entire belly was throbbing when Porthos paused and he whimpered, immediately regretting the noise.

“Enough,” came Aramis' voice and Athos felt Porthos immediately withdraw.

He lay there, bound and trembling and feeling remarkably alone. The tender, throbbing areas on his thighs and stomach made him feel more vulnerable than the bondage and he wished he could see where Aramis and Porthos were. He couldn't quite summon the effort or concentration to lift his head, though.

A hand pressed onto the tender flesh of his stomach and he gasped. A shudder of vulnerability shot through him when the fingers just pressed in dispassionately. He felt like his defences had been stripped and he couldn't stop the gasps of pain when Aramis' fingers continued their cold, clinical examination.

“Good work. Pass my- ah. Yes. Thank you,” Aramis said.

“Sir,” Porthos acknowledged.

Athos felt like an exposed piece of meat on the table in front of them and lifted his head again to see what was happening. Aramis gave a pointed cough and Porthos' hand gripped his hair tightly, forcing his head back to the table. He immediately understood when, without warning, a painful lash of a leather flogger landed on his sensitive stomach.

A pitiful whimper escaped his lips in surprise but he didn't have a chance to think as the lashes fell again. They stung so much on his sore flesh but when a third blow fell on the cold skin of his chest it seemed sharper, somehow.

Thick and fast the blows came as Aramis methodically covered him from collarbones to hips. The hand in his hair kept his head clear of the falls as they landed across his skin. A subtle warmth was beginning under the stinging lashes and when they landed on his chest away from the tenderised muscles of his stomach, they began to feel enjoyable. He was almost sad when they stopped and he whimpered again at the loss.

His breath was forced out of his chest when another blow landed on his stomach. It was similar in sensation but so so much heavier. It felt more like a punch than being slapped and, like Porthos' fist, it felt violent and scary.

He soon stopped considering the feel of the blows as his entire front began to throb. Even between the weighty blows that suddenly seemed to be hurting him down in his muscles as well, just like the fist had. His body ached. His thighs, his stomach, the skin over his ribs, his chest... All were growing hot and throbbed painfully. The pain seemed to be flaring up and down his body, rising up his neck and into his scalp.

The pain built, the blows continued. The pain rose higher and still the blows continued. It reached deep into his muscles until he realised the reason his scalp was burning was that he was pulling against Porthos' hand.

As soon as he realised he was struggling, getting away became his main desire. The feelings of being trapped suddenly rose in him and he surged against the ropes holding him.

He shouted in annoyance when his movement did nothing to cease the blows. All that happened was the flogger moved away from his chest and concentrated on the flesh of his stomach. This was worse. The burn and the thudding pain of the lashes were still present but the deep muscle aches Porthos had left in his wake seemed to flare every time the flogger hit him.

The rhythm slowed but the blows got harder. He started to cry out in frustration but nothing changed. The noise in the room grew louder, drowning out Athos' own cries of... what he was crying out for he didn't know.  Aramis was relentless and unforgiving. Every time the whip hit him, the falls seemed to spread and hurt all across his painful abdomen. He could hear his own gasping breaths in his ears and another violent tug on the ropes yielded no change in that infuriatingly consistent build of pain.

“Hold still,” Aramis barked and Athos froze in surprise. It was rare to hear him speak so harshly.

The only sound Athos could hear was his own panting and he turned his head to look for Aramis' reassurance. It took him what felt like a long time to find his friend and he flinched at the dispassionate expression on his face.

“You seek a reprieve?” Aramis asked coldly, his eyes hard.

Athos stared at him in shock. His thighs were shaking after the onslaught, his chest was burning and his stomach... His stomach hurt more than he'd imagined. He felt as if he'd been beaten by a bat, the ache was so deep. His muscles were trembling and his skin felt like he'd been flayed. Every breath made the muscles throb again and the vulnerability crashed over him again.

“Answer me,” Aramis said, crisply.

“Yes,” Athos gasped.

Aramis tossed the flogger carelessly onto the table, where it bumped against one of Athos' thighs, and walked away. A hand touched his cheek and his eyes flew up to see Porthos holding a water skin to his lips. He took a few grateful gulps and then rested his head back, panting.

“Where's Aramis?” he whispered.

Porthos frowned slightly uncertainly from his chair next to the table.

“Need to stop?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Athos said in a rush. “Not ready. But... Is he OK?”

Porthos' hand cradled Athos' face gently and he smiled affectionately when Athos nuzzled into it gratefully.

“Wait here,” he murmured.

Athos rested back against the table and took stock of his various painful areas. His stomach was the worst but in a wonderfully deep throbbing way. His agitation was still there but it was easing. Everything was coming to life in his body, ready for more. He knew it would be harder but he knew he needed it. There were low voices elsewhere in the room and he lifted his head to find Aramis and Porthos stood talking with their backs to him. After another minute, in which Athos started to grow concerned and frustrated at his position, they both walked to his side.

“Yes?” Aramis asked him, eyes raking over his exposed body.

Athos again flinched at the detachment in his voice. He looked in confusion at Porthos who nudged Aramis' arm pointedly.

“Oh,” said Aramis softly. He walked around the table to take the seat Porthos had been occupying beside Athos' head. “Hello,” he said quietly, settling his hand in Athos' hair gently.

“Hi,” murmured Athos, nuzzling into it.

“Don't need the role any more?” Aramis asked, amused.

“Huh?” mumbled Athos, bereft of his normal eloquence.

“In my position as the man carrying out your punishment I was remaining detached,” Aramis explained.

“Oh,” Athos said, suddenly understanding. “Sorry. Have I ruined it?” he asked, lifting his head and tugging gently on the ropes.

“No, no. Shh. Be still,” Aramis said calmly. “We adapt and change as we go along Athos. Perhaps you don't need the role any more. You're willing to accept what you need yourself.”

Athos thought for a minute before nodding slowly.

“But not... I can't quite accept,” Athos said hesitantly.

“And that's why you're still bound and will remain so,” Aramis said, patting his cheek. “How're you feeling?”

“Better,” Athos said, honestly. “Still.... tense and... churning.”

“Churning?” Aramis asked, tilting his head. “You mean there's still a lot of feelings swirling and you can't name them all?”

“Yes,” Athos said, nodding. Now that he had calmed down the crushing ball of panic was throbbing in his chest again but with nowhere near the ferocity it had been.

“OK. OK, shh,” Aramis replied, seeming to understand.

He undid the rope from the table leg closest and gestured for Porthos to do the same. When Athos looked up at Porthos, he was met with a big grin, far more like the Porthos he knew.

When his second wrist came free he found a sudden flutter of panic he wasn't expecting and he held them limply in the air. Aramis, however, deftly tied the two loose ends together and wrapped them around his wrists, binding them together.

“Twist them until they're comfortable,” Aramis said. Athos did so and Aramis smiled before tightening the ropes to keep them pressed together. The return to confinement was somehow comforting. When he tried to sit up, however, Aramis pressed him back down. “Not yet.”

Athos exhaled heavily and tried to relax but Aramis' fingers were still tracing around the wrist with the cloth wrapped around it.

“Tell me about this,” Aramis said.

“I had a moment when I was tying up my horse on the road back. I tightened it and it I... It gave me clarity,” Athos hedged.

“Tell me,” Aramis said firmly.

“I was upset,” he whispered. Aramis continued to stare expectantly and Athos felt shame rushing up into his throat. “I did it without thinking but then... It... I wanted...”

“To hurt yourself?” asked Aramis gently.

“Yes,” Athos said, still in a whisper.

“Did you think about ending your life?” Aramis asked.

Athos couldn't find the words to reply and just nodded, closing his eyes.

“Look at me,” Aramis said and his voice left no room for disobedience so Athos complied. “If you feel that way again, you will come to us. When your mind is whirling and you're desperate for something... You will seek us. Tonight, at the garrison? You should have been seeking us, not solitude in which to harm yourself. Do you understand?”

Athos nodded helplessly and Aramis smiled again.

“Ready to continue?”

Athos licked his lips and nodded.

“Sit up,” Aramis said, letting go of Athos' hair.

Athos raised his bound wrists but Aramis made no move to undo them. With his ankles still tied to the corners of the table, he had to pull himself up using just his abdominals and he groaned loudly in pain.

Porthos quickly undid his ankles and helped Athos stand, leaning him gently back against the table. While Aramis walked away, Porthos fed Athos some more water, ignoring his attempts to hold the skin himself. He turned him around, preventing Athos' attempts to see what Aramis was doing and guided him to straddle a chair, facing the back.

The nerves began to rise again, the agitation in his chest fighting to escape. He closed his eyes when Porthos placed a heavy hand on the back of his neck, tilting his chin down against his chest.

“Don't move,” he said, gruffly.

Athos swallowed hard and let Porthos arrange him. He was pushed forwards until his still hot chest came in contact with the chair back. His legs were forced wide apart, his abused thighs complaining, and his ankles were tied to the chair legs. His wrists were left joined but the trailing rope Aramis had wrapped around his wrists, Porthos unwound and used to pull them down and attach them to the back the chair, forcing Athos to lean over slightly.

“Thanks,” murmured Porthos and Athos turned his head, opening his eyes to realise Aramis had joined them again.

The piece of rope Aramis had handed Porthos was tied around his hips, pulling them tight against the back of the chair. This small act seemed incredibly ominous and Athos shifted uncomfortably.

“If you need to stop, if you need to change, if you need me to adjust, you can tell me,” Aramis said in a ringing voice.

The gentility and tenderness had faded and the hairs on the back of Athos' neck stood up. He gave a mute nod and felt Aramis' hand run up from the waist of his small-clothes up his spine to his neck. He smoothed his palm across one of Athos' shoulders and gave it a reassuring squeeze before withdrawing.

He recognised the difference in the two whips this time, having felt them earlier. This was the thinner one. It seemed to caress him just as much as it stung. He leaned more heavily against the chair, enjoying the sensation as Aramis began to cover the expanse of skin. It was like a mildly painful massage and before long that building warmth made itself known from shoulders to waist. There was a short pause and then he started again, much harder.

The first solid blow landed hard between his shoulder blades and he gasped involuntarily. It lit his skin on fire and his whole body shuddered. Another blow came perfectly parallel across his waist and he had a fleeting second to admire Aramis' aim before they began to land thick and fast.

While his aim was perfect when going slow, the speed at which he moved was overwhelming. Occasionally a blow would land and the thin leather strips would wrap around his waist or under his arm and he'd give a small hiss or surprise but otherwise he found he felt remarkably quiet. This time he'd been expecting it and had plenty of time to replace his stoic facade, refusing to give into it.

Porthos moved his chair a little closer and watched Athos' face intently. He was almost silent but his eyes were screwed up tightly and there were deep, deep frown lines between his eyebrows. Scanning him, Porthos noticed his fists and his jaw were both clenched. He raised a hand to get Aramis' attention and when he had it, nodded his head at Athos.

Aramis stopped suddenly and Athos' whole body shuddered, panting for breath.

“Need to stop?” Aramis asked, taking in the same signs of agitation Porthos had.

“No,” Athos panted. “Keep... Not ready... Don't stop.”

Aramis nodded at Porthos who gently tipped Athos' head back and fed him some water, which he gulped down greedily. He stretched his arms and shoulders for a couple of minutes and then while Porthos wiped Athos' sweaty face down gently, took his own long drink of water from the cup behind him. Porthos came to his side and wrapped an arm around him.

“He's nearly there,” Aramis said, too quiet for Athos to hear over his own heavy breathing.

“Yeah,” agreed Porthos. “How are you?”

“I'm absolutely fine,” Aramis answered, smiling radiantly. “I love you for checking on me, though.”

Porthos pressed a kiss to Aramis' temple and then patted him on the backside before returning to his seat at Athos' side.

The first blow landed in a perfect diagonal line across his shoulder blade and Athos shouted in pain, arching his back. A second blow landed on the other side and he strained against the ropes.

“Athos,” came Aramis' commanding voice, piercing through the flaming pain on his back. “If you want to stop, say so. If not, submit to the pain.”

Athos' eyes flew open and it took him long seconds to work out what Aramis had said. The two patches Aramis had struck were throbbing while the rest of him burned and he slowly, with great effort, forced himself to relax. He leaned his head forwards and let his arms hang limply again.

He groaned with pain when Aramis struck his shoulder blade again. The second blow on the opposite side followed almost immediately.

Blow after blow landed across Athos' shoulders and back. His skin felt as if it burst into flames with every contact of the flogger's falls but there was no time for it to fade before another blow fell.

The pain layered and layered and the creature in his chest felt as if it was scratching at the inside of his flesh. The swirling emotions all seemed to funnel up into his throat and he was grunting loudly now but could barely hear it. The roaring in his ears was back and he felt something dangerous tickling along his spine. He wanted the pain. Needed the pain. It was drowning everything else, the burning pain blazed through him, destroying everything cold and dark in its path.

Porthos' eyes had glazed over watching Aramis. The man was like a beautiful storm. He was reminded of watching his lover fighting with a sword, wherein he moved like he was dancing. In this, however, his feet were planted to the floor, immovable and steady yet his arm... It was a thing of beauty to watch. The rotation in his wrist was phenomenal, hitting one side over-hand, immediately spinning to strike the other side in a twisted back-hand, the leather falls trailing behind the motion in a gorgeous figure of eight pattern that made it look utterly effortless.

A quick check on Athos revealed he had quickly dropped back to that built up agitation again. He was clearly fighting something but there was no physical struggle so he turned his attention back to Aramis. He studied him for a moment, looking for a signal, and got a tiny shake of the head even though Aramis didn't seem to look in his direction.

While his physical display was glorious, the expression on his face was breathtaking. There was a slight tightness between his eyebrows and his eyes had narrowed in concentration but they were bright, alive and glittering with his own hunger. However much Aramis did this for Athos' benefit, he wanted it himself as well. He wished he could meet Aramis' eyes properly and watch him but knew there was no way his attention would deviate at all.

Fleeting memories of the countless times over the years Aramis had perfected his technique flashed through his mind. The painful experiences where things weren't quite right. The laughter when things were terribly wrong. The occasional disasters when buttons were pressed. The times Aramis over stretched himself and even the times Porthos was left hungry from an overly nervous Aramis.

A slight shift in Athos' position made him turn his eyes back to Athos who was now baring his teeth in a kind of pained grimace. His back had arched slightly, leaning his shoulders up into Aramis' strikes but still didn't make a sound. The constant rhythmic _thwack_ of the flogger hitting his skin was the only sound he could hear. He straightened up in his chair leaning slightly away from Athos to get Aramis' attention. This time, Aramis gave him a tiny nod.

Porthos leaned forwards in his chair until his lips were close to Athos' ear and he rested his hand heavily on the thick shaggy mop of hair, still dusty from the journey.

“Let go,” he whispered.

Athos shook his head vigorously, almost dislodging Porthos' hand.

“Just let it all go,” he murmured quietly.

Athos shook his head still harder. Aramis hadn't ceased the blows once and this close, the movement of the flogger was hard enough it ruffled Porthos' own hair.

“We've got you,” Porthos said again, lips against Athos' ear.

The man gave a small pained whimper, his body gave an almighty shudder and then he sagged forwards with a loud moan.

“That's it,” Porthos hummed into his ear. “We've got you. Just feel. Give in to it. Let all that other shit out.”

Athos' back had arched again but Aramis had slowed down. He wasn't hitting any gentler but it was slow enough now that Athos was giving a short, low moan of pain every time Aramis struck.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was any more. Everything inside him seemed empty, hollow. Each blow vibrated through him and he felt in his toes. It hurt. So much. His shoulders were on absolute fire and yet each blow felt like a deep thump, right through into his chest. It pounded into that empty space where the black oil had been. Each hit, each fresh wave of pain, each new path of heat raced through him, a cleansing fire. It burned through all the murky, confused, twisted pain he was so used to, leaving a raw, blazing trail, obliterating it all.

As he drifted, losing himself in the blissful relief of agony, he was constantly aware of Porthos' hand. It held him down, He wasn't alone in this. This pain didn't come with the crippling loneliness that dark pain did. This bright, clear agony came with friendship, with love. He might be hurting, but he wasn't suffering.

“That's it,” Porthos was saying again and this time Athos turned his head to listen properly. “There you go. Let it out. Get rid of all of it. All out.”

Athos nodded frantically and strained his head towards Porthos. He nuzzled gratefully when Porthos moved close enough that Athos' face rested in the curve of his neck and shoulder.

His body was shuddering again but this time in relief. Sweet, blissful relief. He suddenly realised the blows were getting lighter and gradually slower. Eventually they stopped and Athos just sagged against the back of the chair, nuzzling into Porthos. The loud scrape of a chair made him jump.

“Sorry. Shh. It's just me,” Aramis' voice said from his other side as he joined them.

His body was still shaking slightly from exertion but he gave a short, dry sob into Porthos' shoulder when Aramis' hand pressed firmly against his tail bone. The skin was so sensitive that he trembled when Aramis' hand began to stroke upwards.

Emotions bubbled up into his throat again but this time he hardly recognised them. Gratitude, love, clarity, euphoria and a feeling of being on the verge of tears but no idea why. He also felt a heavy sense of fatigue and drowsiness settling around him like a thick warm blanket.

He concentrated on the feel of Aramis' hand on his back. It was firm and gentle at the same time but he couldn't stop the hiss of pain as it reached the patches on his shoulder blades. Pain flared in them and he groaned loudly.

Aramis chuckled softly but continued to stroke Athos' back. Porthos leaned in pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Athos' head and he shivered pleasantly. Long minutes passed as the three of them sat in silence and Athos felt as if his limbs were growing heavier by the second.

“Are you ready to move?” Aramis asked.

“Not sure,” Athos mumbled, his voice ragged.

“Shall I carry you?” Porthos asked quietly.

Athos leaned towards him slightly in answer and Porthos placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Hey now. Let's get you free, first. Relax,” he murmured.

Athos nodded and simply rode the adrenaline still coursing through his system, waves of pain from his shoulders making him smile. Greedily, he gulped down the water Porthos offered him while Aramis untied his wrists and ankles. He couldn't stop the loud groan as he was pulled up into Porthos' arms.

“M'sleepy,” he mumbled into Porthos' shirt.

“Sleep then,” the big man answered as he sat them carefully on the sofa, Athos still cradled in his arms like a child.

“Should I not... move to...”

“You tell us what you want, what you feel, what you want and we'll do it,” Aramis said, sitting beside Porthos, at Athos' feet. “If you don't know what you want, just relax.”

Athos nodded and shifted a bit in Porthos' arms, stretching his legs out a little. He felt like he was floating somewhere. It was the same foggy detachment he got when he was blind drunk but the fog was warm instead of cold, bright instead of dark.

There was a vague sense of movement and his legs uncurled, stretching themselves across Aramis' lap. He could hear them talking in muted voices but lacked the energy to make out the words. Instead it was a low, soothing noise that comforted him while he floated in the contented mist.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Athos stirred, he found Porthos smiling at him but he was shushed as he opened his mouth. He followed Porthos' gaze to see Aramis curled up tightly against Porthos' side, sleeping. Porthos' arm was wrapped around Aramis' body, just as his other was still cradling Athos.

Athos lay his head back down against Porthos' chest and watched Aramis' sleeping face. His hair was in a wild tangle, some bits sticking in the air, some falling down over his face.

“He OK?” Athos whispered.

“Of course,” Porthos whispered back, smiling fondly at Aramis. “Just takes a lot out of him.”

Athos frowned slightly in confusion.

“It's like... He gives a lot to us and takes some time to gather it all back,” Porthos explained.

“His energy?” Athos asked.

“Yeah. That,” Porthos said, his hand stroking Athos' hip idly.

As if he felt eyes on him, Aramis stirred and opened his own.

“Well hello,” Aramis said, sitting up so that Porthos' arm slid up to rest across his shoulders.

“Hi,” Athos said, bashfully.

Aramis ran his hand soothingly up and down Athos' leg.

“How're you feeling?”

“Well. Very well. Very warm,” Athos answered, raising his head from Porthos' chest. “You?”

“I'm very well,” Aramis said, rubbing Athos' thigh and holding his hands up in apology when Athos groaned softly. “Sorry. I forgot,” he said, returning to simply stroking.

“Felt good, actually. Needed,” Athos said, grinning.

Porthos laughed and leaned his sideways to press his cheek affectionately against the top of Athos' head while Aramis began to massage the muscle.

Athos groaned again as the deep ache Porthos had left behind came to the front of his mind. It had faded a lot under Aramis' ministrations but now was pleasantly throbbing, the sniper's hands like magic on the layered muscle.

When Aramis switched to his other leg, he hummed in satisfaction against Porthos' shirt, sitting up even more. He watched Aramis' hands seek out the hard knots of muscle and grunted when they found sensitive spots.

“Better?” Aramis asked and he smiled widely when Athos nodded

“How's your arm?” asked Porthos, turning towards Aramis.

“It will be fine,” Aramis answered, smiling.

“Is your arm hurt?” Athos asked, sitting up. He shifted his weight so he was no longer leaning on Porthos.

“You took a long time to let go,” Aramis said, smirking slightly.

“Oh,” he muttered inadequately.

The fact that he'd been such a mess it took injuring Aramis to fix him hit him but before he could examine that thought, Aramis jabbed his index finger into Athos' thigh.

“Ow,” he muttered, rubbing the spot.

“Porthos takes more. Mild muscle pain, nothing else. It's just exercise, Athos,” Aramis said, smiling.

Athos nodded thoughtfully.

"Are you OK?" Aramis asked, searching his face.

"I am, thank you. That was... That was enlightening," Athos said, slowly. "I feel... cleansed somehow. As though my heart has been rinsed clean."

Aramis smiled and resumed rubbing Athos' thigh.

"I'm very pleased. I want you to know I'm serious, Athos. I do not wish for you to ever harm yourself again. Come to us and we'll provide whatever help we can," he said quietly.

Athos nodded, watching Aramis' hand on his thigh.

"Anything you didn't like? Anything you'd change? Anything you want to talk about?"

"I liked... It was good when I couldn't hide," Athos answered, frowning.

"You mean on your back?" Aramis asked.

"No. I couldn't... I don't know how to word it."

"You couldn't pretend it didn't hurt?" Porthos suggested.

Athos nodded emphatically and Aramis smiled.

"You mean it helped when we caught you off balance and did things unexpected?"

"Yes. I wasn't able to defend myself," Athos explained. "Emotionally, I mean."

"You have no idea how beautiful you are in those moments, my friend. When you aren't hiding behind the nobility, the haughty expression. When there's no distance, just honesty," Aramis said, squeezing his thigh.

Athos blushed under the praise and couldn't stop himself shifting a little bit at the pain, earning a wicked smirk from Aramis.

"Anything else?"

"I liked the second whip. It felt more... visceral," Athos said. "Same with Porthos. I liked how... it frightened me and made me vulnerable."

Porthos squeezed his hip affectionately and chuckled.

"The heavier pain was more enjoyable? Porthos finds so too," Aramis said, nodding. "He calls it thuddy."

"Good word," mused Athos, smiling at Porthos.

"Tell me what happened when we paused," Aramis said, his head tilted slightly.

"When I ruined the roles?"

"Not ruined, Athos. Just found you didn't need them," Aramis corrected.

"I was... I'm not sure. I didn't need to fight you. I think it was just... I was happy with you hurting me and could accept that this time," Athos answered.

"That's good. We can always use them if you need but if you don't, we don't have to," Aramis replied.

"How's your stomach and legs?" Porthos asked.

"They're good. It's... I'm... They're pleasantly aching," Athos said, swallowing hard.

"They might get tight but Aramis is excellent at loosening them," Porthos said, grinning.

"Ah, mi vida. You do yourself a disservice. You, too, are excellent at easing sore muscles," Aramis replied, his hand coming up to rub his aching shoulder.

“Let me make an attempt, then,” Athos said, resting his hand over Aramis' on his shoulder.

Aramis blinked slowly at him before turning to Porthos and raising his eyebrows. Porthos shrugged and Athos tutted loudly.

“Can you speak out loud?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

“I was expressing surprise at your reaction,” Aramis said, kindly.

“Why? You helped me... You need looking after as well,” Athos said, frowning.

“Man has a point,” Porthos said, squeezing Aramis' other shoulder.

Athos stood up, legs shaking for a few moments before he had his balance. He gestured for Aramis to lay down on his front and he complied, settling with his face resting on Porthos' thigh. A small noise from Porthos made Athos turn around.

“What?”

“You have wings,” Porthos said, his voice soft.

Aramis raised his eyebrows and Athos obligingly turned his back on them. A hand on his shoulder blade, across one of the most painful patches, made him shiver.

“They're darker?” Athos asked.

“Might be a little bit of bruising there,” Aramis said quietly, his cheek resting against the leather covering Porthos' leg.

Athos stretched his shoulders and smiled, turning back around.

“Nowhere else?” he asked, surprised.

“Shouldn't be,” Porthos agreed. “Your thighs and stomach will probably feel me for a few days but not too badly. I reckon only those two patches are likely to bruise from 'im.”

Athos leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss into Aramis' unruly hair.

“You're amazing,” he said, fervently.

Aramis preened under the praise and closed his eyes when Porthos' hand brushed the hair out of them. He shifted slightly when Athos settled on his knees astride the back of Aramis' legs.

“Good job I bought such a large sofa,” Athos said quietly, stroking his hands up and down Aramis' waist. Even then, it was a tight fit and he had to grip Aramis quite tightly with his knees.

Aramis nodded his agreement against Porthos' leg but didn't answer. Athos' hands travelled up his back and settled on his right shoulder. He gripped it tightly for a minute through his shirt and then leaned back.

“Shirt off,” he said. Aramis smirked over his shoulder at him and Athos felt heat in his face. He hadn't meant it that way at all and yet the position...

Porthos was the one who made the first move, fingers dipping easily under Aramis' braces and sliding them off his shoulder. Aramis seemed to realise and he pushed himself up enough that between him and Porthos, they got his shirt off and Aramis settled back down, arms at his sides.

Returning his hands to Aramis' right shoulder, Athos began to gently rub around the joint. At a small sigh from Aramis, he began to massage more firmly, his thumbs working at the hard lump of muscle. He looked uncertainly up at Porthos who was watching his hands intently. When he glanced up, however, he smiled broadly at Athos and nodded encouragingly.

Growing bolder, he spread his hands out and began to massage along his upper arm down to his elbow and then back up, over the orb of muscle covering his joint. Digging his fingers in, he slowly worked back and forth between his shoulder and neck to smooth out the solid lump of muscle.

He saw Porthos lower his hands to Aramis' hair and begin to massage his scalp gently. The low moan that Aramis uttered was surprisingly dirty and Athos found his face heating again. As he watched, Aramis turned his head so he was face down in Porthos' lap, offering his entire head up to Porthos' familiar hands.

“You don't have to... Mmm. Don't have to do this,” Aramis mumbled.

His friends ignored him, though, and he quickly succumbed, feeling surprisingly drowsy. The fingers in his hair were sure and familiar, confidently rubbing through the dark waves, pressing into his scalp. The hands on his back were known to him and yet slightly tentative.

“My lovely boys,” Aramis murmured.

Porthos chuckled quietly and rubbed his thumb into the back of Aramis' neck, eliciting a small moan of pleasure.

“Relax,” soothed Athos, his hands smoothing up and down firmly on Aramis' skin.

Aramis moaned again as Athos' thumbs dug in, following the lines of his shoulder blades in tandem. When Porthos' hand moved to press in against the sensitive spot where his jaw met his throat, he made the noise again.

“Keep makin' noises like that, Sire, and we'll think we ain't relaxing you,” Porthos said quietly.

“Mmm... Well... Athos is... mm.. relaxed,” Aramis murmured, his back arching into Athos' touch with each pass. “Are... you... relaxed, my Porthos?”

“I am,” Porthos answered, strong fingers moving to cradle Aramis' jaw. He smiled when Aramis stretched round slightly to kiss them.

“That's a shame,” Athos said quietly, his voice low.

“Oh,” Aramis breathed, arching his back again under the still moving hands. “Athos isn't relaxed it seems.”

Athos' hands moved to simply massage the skin back and forth on Aramis' hips, trailing the line of his breeches.

“No?” Porthos asked, lifting his eyes.

Athos gave him a sinful smile and gave Aramis a squeeze with his knees. He leaned forwards, running his hands firmly up Aramis' sides with the movement. The movement brought his face close to Aramis' hair and he pressed a kiss into the back of the black waves.

“Oh... So he isn't,” Porthos said, raising a hand to Athos' face, chuckling when Athos licked at his fingertips.

“Need more room,” Aramis murmured, his head twisted almost painfully around to watch the sight.

Athos stood, his legs shaking still but at a gesture from Porthos, sank gratefully to the floor, sitting himself on the rug. He watched as Porthos gently raised Aramis' head and slid out from under him, sitting on the floor as well. He leaned forwards and kissed Aramis gently, his hand stroking Aramis' face, fingers pushing into the tangled hair.

Aramis sighed in pleasure at the soft kiss and slowly drew back, flicking a gaze to Athos who was watching them hungrily. He raised himself to his feet, standing on the rug between them. Smirking at them slightly, he couldn't stop the impulse to raise his arms above his head, stretching indulgently and relishing the gazes this movement drew. Lowering his arms, he rested one hand on each of their heads.

“My lovely boys,” he murmured.

Porthos simply smiled up at him but Athos stroked his leg with one hand.

“Should we take care of you, then?” he suggested, his eyes dark.

Aramis chuckled softly and couldn't help comparing the two seated men. Porthos looked up at him with genuine submission whereas he could see the need for surrender fading from Athos and a pure carnal desire flourishing in its place.

“Sire,” Porthos said, quietly, his hand on the back of Aramis' knee.

Aramis followed the gentle pressure and sank to his knees between them.

“And what does this care look like?” he asked, looking back and forth between them.

Porthos leaned forwards slightly and pressed a kiss to Aramis' temple.

“Kiss him, Sire,” he whispered.

Aramis grinned and eagerly leaned forwards on his knees, his position giving him height over Athos. Cradling their friend's face, Aramis lowered his lips to brush gently across Athos'.

Grinning, Porthos quietly stood and moved around the house, collecting a blanket, some cloths, refilling a water skin and even moving into his and Aramis' bedroom to collect the small bottle of oil they kept beside their bed. When he returned, things had moved on significantly.

Athos was now reclined on his back, resting on his elbows while Aramis was knelt over him like an animal stalking his prey. He appeared to be mouthing at Athos' neck through the unkempt hair growing there but a gasp from Athos made it clear he was biting more than kissing.

When Porthos settled on his knees beside his brothers, they both stared hungrily at him.

“Shirt,” Aramis snapped.

Porthos smirked and drew his shirt off, leaving all three of them stripped to the waist, albeit Athos the only one wearing only his under clothes.

“So good,” Athos said hoarsely, staring at Porthos' chest.

“So mine,” Aramis purred, leaning his body towards Porthos like a cat trying to rub a leg.

“Always,” Porthos answered, trying to make it sound sexy but it came out something of a plea.

Aramis tilted his head and gazed at Porthos slightly. Athos lay silent beneath the two of them, guessing some of the silent conversation between them. In all the times they'd been intimate, it had been made abundantly clear that Aramis' ownership of Porthos was intrinsic but it was always something Porthos became nervous over. Whatever Aramis managed to silently say seemed to ease something in Porthos as his face softened.

“Sire,” he breathed.

Aramis leaned further over and kissed Porthos tenderly. The larger man's hands came up and cradled Aramis' face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. When he finally broke the kiss, Aramis gave a small moan of pleasure.

“Mmm. I think it's not just your shirt you need to lose,” Aramis said silkily.

Without hesistation, Porthos began to unlace his breeches. As soon as he'd opened them far enough, he pushed them down over his hips to bunch at his knees.

“Keep going,” Aramis said, a hint of instruction seeping into his voice that made both Porthos and Athos shiver.

While Porthos unlaced his smalls, Athos did the same, wriggling lightly to push them down to his knees, which drew an amused smirk from Aramis, still kneeling above him.

“Eager?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Athos answered, his eyes locked on Porthos who was looking shy as he pushed his own underwear down.

“How're your shoulders?” Aramis asked, seriously.

“Very sore,” Athos answered. “So hurry up.”

Aramis laughed and dipped his head to kiss Athos soundly. He lifted his head just long enough to gasp “Clothes off of everyone” at Porthos before dipping his head again.

Porthos grinned and shifted awkwardly on his knees to remove his own clothes from his lower legs and then knee-walked round until he was behind Aramis. He first leaned between Aramis' legs to pull Athos' underwear free of his legs before smoothing his hands over Aramis' buttocks.

He heard Aramis moan his approval and found his mouth watering at the way the sound was swallowed by Athos' kiss. Shifting his weight, he was able to see Athos was now flat on his back, one of his hands tangled in Aramis' hair, the other stroking the man's chest. Their tongues were visible as sudden flashes of pink between them as the kiss grew messier.

Returning his attention to Aramis, Porthos reached around Aramis' waist, stroking the soft skin of his stomach, fingers following the trail of dark hair from his belly to his waistband. It took him several attempts to undo the buttons one handed but he was completely unwilling to remove the hand still stroking firmly across Aramis' backside.

He smiled when Athos' hands moved to cirlce Aramis' body, stroking across his waist and up and down his back, over his shoulders. Porthos unlaced the linen and, with some helpful fidgeting from Aramis, drew both garments down over his legs and dropped them to the side as well.

Just seeing Aramis bared was enough to get Porthos half hard and from this angle, neither man in front of him had any secrets. Aramis was also beginning to harden but Athos was unapologetically erect, laying against his stomach. When Porthos reached between his legs and gently cradled Aramis, the man shuddered between them and moaned softly against Athos' mouth.

“Porthos,” Aramis gasped, turning his head to stare over his shoulder.

“Mmm?”

“Make love to me,” he sighed.

Porthos beamed and helpfully held up the little bottle of oil, making Aramis laugh.

“What's so funny?” Athos asked, still stroking Aramis' back.

“Porthos is always so prepared,” Aramis answered, lowering his head again to nuzzle into Athos' neck. “What would you like, Athos?”

“What's on offer?” Athos asked, lifting his chin to grant Aramis more access.

“Well I'm going to enjoy my lovely Porthos inside me. I wondered what you would like,” Aramis answered, lowering his pelvis to press against Athos' hard member.

“Oh I- Ohh... That... That was nice,” Athos murmured.

His hands left Aramis' back and quickly found his member between them. He began to experiment, handling the flesh timidly. His mouth went dry as it hardened in his hands, marvelling at the effect he had.

“Would you both stop teasing me, please?” Aramis murmured against Athos' throat.

Porthos chuckled and began to stroke his index finger between his lover's buttocks, pressing against his entrance. There was an impatient thrust of his hips and Porthos chuckled again, pressing his index finger in, parting the muscles.

Aramis moaned loudly, pushing his hips back for a moment before surging forwards and pressing his now fully hard length against Athos'. A muffled groan from the man below him made him repeat the motion, lightly fucking himself back against Porthos' index finger.

“Porthos,” Aramis moaned against Athos' neck where he was still kissing and nuzzling.

His unspoken command was instantly obeyed as a second oiled finger pressed into him, spreading him wider, and his whole body shuddered with pleasure. Another shudder went through him and Porthos realised Athos had begun to stroke Aramis' cock as his body rocked back and forth.

“You see?” Porthos hummed, his free hand stroking Aramis' hip gently. “We look after you.”

“Mhmm... Yes...” sighed Aramis.

He had dropped his forehead to rest against Athos' shoulder and was just gently moving between Porthos' fingers and Athos' hand.

Porthos idly stroked himself as he watched Aramis. It was a beautiful thing, to watch Aramis give himself over to pleasure like this. He was always something of a hedonist but his natural tendency for control meant he was usually too busy directing proceedings to get totally lost. Returning his hand to Aramis' body, he pressed gently between Aramis' shoulder blades, encouraging him down to his forearms. A little encouragement backwards lowered Aramis' body into full contact with Athos'.

Their friend groaned softly as Aramis' shift in position ground their hard cocks together. He shifted his grip slightly to hold their cocks together and his groan echoed Aramis' at the sensation.

“Faster?” Aramis asked, his voice muffled.

“Not yet,” Porthos replied, chuckling at the mildly frustrated groan he got, not just from Aramis but from Athos, too.

He began to spread and twist his fingers slightly as Aramis rocked on them. Withdrawing his fingers entirely, he smirked as Aramis whimpered at the loss. He added more oil and replaced the two fingers, his cock throbbing at the decadent moan it elicited.

Aramis' breath was hot on Athos' throat where he'd buried his face. Each small moan or gasp of pleasure went across his neck in waves. The warmth was nothing compared to the heat under his own skin, however. His shoulders were burning with pain as the rocking of Aramis' body moved him on the rug but it just seemed to build his arousal. His stomach and chest were warm as well, increasingly so as sweat began to build on his and Aramis' chests. Another moan was so loud it seemed to pass through him entirely and shot straight to his cock and he knew Porthos had finally added a third finger.

Aramis was floating between them, a mass of sensation. He often felt helpless with Porthos but that wasn't what this was. He simply felt cradled carefully between them. Athos was still stroking him gently, providing a gentle cushion and a place to bury his face. Porthos' hand had returned to his hip and while the three thick fingers stretched him most deliciously, that other hand held him steady. He could feel Porthos' thumb moving in tiny circles along the line of his hip bone and the tiny gesture warmed his heart.

“Porthos,” he moaned again into Athos' throat.

“Soon,” his lover promised, the smile evident in his voice. “Be patient.”

“Not patient,” Aramis muttered, raising his head.

“I know,” Porthos chuckled, twisting his fingers.

Aramis moaned sinfully for a second before claiming Athos' mouth in a demanding, urgent kiss. He heard a stifled groan from behind him and knew Porthos was watching. He deepened the kiss still further, his tongue probing into Athos' mouth where it met a determined tongue responding in kind. A sudden tug to his shaft made him moan again and he bit Athos' lip in reply.

Porthos' cock throbbed almost painfully, having received only a few strokes from his own hand. The vision of his two best friends kissing -no, battling- was painfully arousing. It was interspersed with small moans and hisses of pain. He knew Aramis well enough to recognise the pained little noises of having rough hands on his length but could guess from the little grunts from Athos that he was expressing his displeasure with biting.

When he finally felt Aramis' muscles were relaxed enough, he slicked up his length and removed his fingers.

“Finally,” Aramis purred in anticipation and Porthos had to chuckle at the inviting swaying of Aramis' hips.

“Uh huh,” Porthos said and raised himself on his knees slightly, pressing the blunt head of his cock against Aramis' entrance.

“For God's sake,” Athos hissed impatiently, bucking his hips underneath Aramis.

Porthos chuckled and gently eased his way inside, groaning in pleasure. Aramis gave a small hiss of pain but when Porthos stilled, he pushed back against him, egging him on.

“Patience,” Porthos said gently, stroking Aramis' hip again.

Aramis made a disgruntled noise and returned his face to the crook of Athos' neck. He began to make small thrusts into Athos' hands, which Porthos didn't try and stop, letting Aramis rock gently on his cock.

“That's it,” Porthos said softly, watching him relax. He wiped his hand on a cloth and gently smoothed his hands up and down Aramis' back. “Taking care of you, Sire.”

Aramis hummed softly, all the aggression and demanding urges sapped from him. He nuzzled against Athos' throat, simply rocking his body back and forth into his friend's grip, their cocks rubbing against one another.

Athos felt the shift in his attitude and groaned softly. He turned his head slightly to gently kiss into Aramis' hair and used one hand to gather some moisture from the heads of their hot, wet cocks and spread them along their lengths. A long low moan vibrated across Athos' throat as the friction eased and they moved smoothly against one another.

Adding a little more oil to his length, Porthos gently gripped Aramis' hips and began to thrust more firmly into his body. A ripple seemed to run through Aramis and he arched his back, simultaneously offering himself up to Porthos and pressing more firmly into the heat between him and Athos where his hands were still stroking them both firmly.

Athos was growing quickly impatient. He had been incredibly turned on since the second he'd knelt across Aramis on the sofa. The pain on the backs of his shoulders was increasing and no matter how soft the rug, they were making themselves felt. An arch of his hips made Aramis moan, which made Porthos chuckle darkly above them both.

“You two are very impatient,” he said quietly, one hand stroking Aramis' back again.

“Your self control is admirable,” Athos said, drily. “It's also infuriating.”

Both Aramis and Porthos chuckled, the former rather breathlessly.

“He told me to make love to him,” Porthos explained, still moving slowly.

“I did,” Aramis moaned softly.

“So I am,” Porthos answered, finally pressing entirely into Aramis' body, relishing the sensation of being fully seated inside him.

“My boy,” Aramis sighed blissfully.

Athos and Porthos' eyes met over Aramis' shoulder and they smiled at each other, Athos somewhat more hungrily than Porthos' tender expression. However turned on Athos was, however, Porthos wouldn't have changed the leisurely way he began to fuck Aramis for the world.

Each thrust was smooth and controlled. Simply pressing in and out rhythmically, listening to Aramis' soft moans. Athos understood when he heard the gentle stutter of breath as Aramis seemed to come apart between them. His body seemed to ripple between them again before arching eagerly.

“Beautiful,” Porthos said in a hushed voice. Athos hummed his agreement into Aramis' hair and saw the man's eyes were closed and he was smiling. “You too,” Porthos added, nodding at Athos.

The older man smiled somewhat bashfully and shifted his hands between them and as his thumb rubbed gently over the head of Aramis' cock, the marksman gasped in surprise.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“Oh don't be,” Aramis said, his voice regaining its sultry lilt as he pushed himself up slightly.

Porthos grinned as he recognised the shift and he began to thrust into Aramis properly, speeding up enough that their skin slapped together loudly in the room, Aramis' moans muffled only by Athos' collarbone.

Under the increased pace, Athos knew he wasn't going to last very long and his hands on their pressed together members grew firmer and more determined. It took a few attempts but he managed to time his strokes with Porthos' thrusts and Aramis moaned even louder, his body shuddering under the joint assault on his senses.

“Porth... Athos,” Aramis gasped, heat bubbling in his stomach faster than he'd expected.

“We've got you, Sire. It's good,” Porthos groaned, watching Aramis toss his head back suddenly, the thick tangled mop of hair flying as his lover's face contorted in bliss.

Athos groaned, the same beautiful expression sending him over the edge without any real warning. His back arched, pressing his sore and bruised shoulders into the rug, and his mouth fell open as fluid spilled into the space between their stomachs.

Porthos didn't even pause, just continued to move with Aramis who was moaning with abandon now. A sudden shift in position and he raised up on his knees, pulling Aramis with him, raising his body away from Athos slightly. A few moments later and Athos had managed to regain his focus enough to get his hands back on Aramis, his strokes firmer, faster, more determined. Aramis' body shuddered between them and then, with a long, low moan, his orgasm tore through him. Even as his body shook he could feel all four of his friend's hands on him as bliss rippled through him, making his arms tremble where they held his weight.

“Easy,” Porthos murmured. “Easy, Sire.”

Aramis shuddered again, leaning into the two strong arms that had wrapped themselves around his ribs as Athos' hand wrung the last of his orgasm from his body.

When he felt Aramis' body sag into his arms, he jerked his chin at Athos who raised his arms so Porthos could gently lower Aramis into them, laying him beside Athos.

There was an adorable breathy giggle from the pliant, boneless marksman when Porthos gently eased himself from Aramis' body.

Athos pressed a kiss into Aramis' hair when he nuzzled against his shoulder before watching Porthos move around cleaning them all up. When he swiped the cloth across Athos' stomach he grinned and pressed in a little, making Athos inhale sharply.

Clean up completed, Porthos lay down behind Aramis, cradling his slim frame. Instinctively, the marksman leaned back against him, shivering slightly. Porthos was still hard and Aramis couldn't help wriggling happily against him.

“Athos,” he murmured, beckoning him closer.

Athos followed the direction, rolling onto his side, groaning happily as his sore, abraded shoulders came off the floor, heat radiating from them. He shifted until he was pressed close against Aramis, Porthos and Aramis' arms both wrapping over his waist.

Porthos' arm disappeared for a moment to retrieve the blanket and Athos shivered slightly in their embrace, warmth filling him. Everything felt warm and muted, that heavy blanketed feeling of drowsiness returning and he could feel sleep pulling at him.

“How're you feeling?” Aramis asked.

“Not now, Sire,” he heard Porthos murmur and Athos smiled, letting himself drift off.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :)


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